I hear the screams in the night. Like a horrible nightmare that shatters my restful sleep. I see the images of broken glass upon the dirty floor. Slivers of glass slice my feet as I run for shelter.
I duck into the closet and close the door covering my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as possible as if to think, if I close my eyes tight enough the pain will disappear.
The closet door violently swings open and I feel my hair being yanked. As if going to be pulled from my scalp, and a voice yelling come hear you. I’ll teach you to hide from me. I don’t remember much after the first few thrashing. I do remember being thrown into the wall as my face smashed against the plaster and I fell to the floor like a rag doll.
I regained consciousness several hours later as I lay amongst the shattered glass of broken beer bottles. I see a whiskey bottle with its jagged edged mouth. The whiskey bottle, broken from its body and used as a knife to cut several deep gashes into my arms. The bottle smeared with my blood. I tried to protect myself from total disfigurement as I raised my arms pleading to stop.
With mournful sobbing cries I plead, stop, stop, stop, please stop. The bottle again and again and again rips my skin open digging into my forearms. I lie upon the floor broken like a shattered bottle unable to pick myself up from the newly blood stained floor.
I was kicked repeatedly so it seemed by the bruising of my chest and rib cage. Dried blood now crusty, stuck to my skin leaving a burgundy stain upon my youthful complexion as my childhood became a season of pain that I do not want to remember but I cannot forget.
I wanted to kill the bastard but how and when I didn’t know. I still lie awake in the middle of the night with cold sweats as I hear those screams in the middle of the night. Crying out, baby love, baby love don’t cry no more